


Once Upon A Time

by PawPunk



Series: Happily Ever After [1]
Category: Newsies - All Media Types, Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: (I mean shes a queen in canon but shes a literal queen in this fic), Ableism, Alternate Universe - Cinderella Fusion, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Child Abuse, M/M, Makeouts, Medda is a queen, New York is a monarchy, Royal Balls, Snyder is Crutchie's evil stepfather, The power of friendship, albert is a good bean, davey is.... there, feel free to contact me if I missed one, ill post trigger warnings at the beginning of each chapter, lotsa yikes, race is a trash boi, self- depreciating thoughts, the delancey brothers are the ugly stepbrothers lol
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-28
Updated: 2018-11-04
Packaged: 2019-08-09 00:26:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 10,453
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16439693
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PawPunk/pseuds/PawPunk
Summary: For as long as he can remember, Crutchie has been living under the thumb of his evil stepfather. Then, Queen Medda announces a ball, where everyone is invited! The ball could be Crutchie's chance to escape his abusive family and find love- if he can find a way to sneak out of the house.





	1. Once Upon a Time

**Author's Note:**

> Hey so this is my first fic (that I've shown to anyone anyways) I hope you enjoy it! Trigger warnings for this chapter are verbal abuse, implied physical abuse, and ableism. There's also a sex joke in case you're bothered by that.

Once upon a time, a boy named Crutchie awoke to the lovely sound of his stepfather (or, as Crutchie called him in his head, Snyder the Spider) yelling at him to  _ get up, you lazy brat, do you think you can just lie around all day and get away with it _ ? He groaned, pretending to be asleep for a few more seconds before dragging himself to a sitting position.

“I’m awake sir,” he called, already pulling a shirt on. “Be down in a few seconds.” He had laid out his clothes and crutch by his bed the night before- the last thing he needed was to have to hop over to his dresser half asleep. Today, instead of the ratty hand- me- downs he usually wore, Crutchie chose his favorite blue flannel, a gift from exactly one year ago. He knew it would probably be stained and rumpled by the end of the day, but he wanted to look nice. It was, after all, his sixteenth birthday.

“Alright, I’m ready,” he called, crawling over to the trapdoor.

“Took you long enough,” grumbled his stepfather. Crutchie heard the familiar clanking of iron keys as Snyder opened the padlock on his door. Crutchie eased himself down the rickety ladder, carefully lowering himself onto his good leg before pulling his crutch down as well. He propped himself up on the crutch, slumping one shoulder to compensate for the few inches he’d grown since he had gotten it.

“Get on with it, I have to be at the courtroom in an hour,” Snyder griped, and Crutchie hopped down the two flights of stairs to the kitchen as fast as he dared. He winced as his bad leg clipped the edge of a stair. Making a quick detour to the bathroom, Crutchie splashed some water in his face and ran his fingers through his hair before greeting his stepbrothers in the dining room.

“Good morning Oscar. Good morning Morris,” Crutchie said, careful to keep his tone friendly but not cheerful. 

“Pancakes,” Oscar responded. Morris grumbled in agreement, and Crutchie headed to the kitchen. He let the placid smile drop off his face as he pulled eggs and milk out of the icebox. Carefully balancing against the table, he pulled a bowl and measuring spoons out of the cabinet and beat the eggs and milk together. He slipped as he mixed in the flour, and hastily wiped the spill with his sleeve. So much for his favorite shirt. 

He could practically hear his stepfamily’s impatience as he spooned batter into the frying pan. After what seemed like an eternity, he stacked the presentable pancakes onto a serving plate with sugar and jam and carried it into the dining room. Crutchie retreated to lean against the wall and calm his thudding heart as Snyder sawed off and scrutinized a forkful.

“They’re lumpy.” Crutchie instinctively took a step towards the safety of the kitchen. His stepfather placed the bite in his mouth and very, very slowly chewed and swallowed. Suddenly, he stood, letting his fork clatter to the table. He stalked towards Crutchie, who shrank back against the wall. Snyder’s broad frame blocked the morning light streaming in from the windows, and Crutchie could smell the expensive cigars on his breath.

“You’re lucky I’m already late for work,” Snyder growled. With that, he shoved past him and out the door. 

“More for me!” Morris cheered, reaching for the abandoned plate. Oscar grabbed for the pancakes at the same time, and the two began a battle to grab the most food. Crutchie left the boys to their slapfight and returned to the kitchen. He rolled up his sleeves and pushed the dishes into the sink before settling down on the rickety stool. He pulled the plate of overcooked, malformed, and now cold pancakes towards himself. 

_ Unwanted pancakes for an unwanted boy _ , Crutchie thought. He washed his and his stepfamily’s dishes and grabbed enough money for the day’s shopping. He picked up his basket on the way out the door, and set off into town.

Glancing at his list of errands, Crutchie walked the short, mostly flat route he had long ago memorized. First on the list, as always, was the bakery. It was rumoured that the Jacobs had been invited to be the royal family’s personal pastry chefs, and while Crutchie sincerely doubted that, he could definitely see where it came from. As he opened the door, the rich smells of baking breads and cakes hit him, and he took a moment to revel in the warmth of the shop.

“Morning Crutchie!” Les, the youngest Jacobs child, said, his head barely peeking over the wooden counter. “Same as usual?”

“Yep!” Crutchie placed his basket on the counter and counted out the coins for the bread. Les passed Crutchie his bread and, with great flourish, opened the cash register to deposit the money. Crutchie couldn’t help but smile at Les’s childish delight.

“Here’s your change,” Les said, passing Crutchie a dime. He briefly thought about pocketing it, but ten cents wasn’t worth the risk of being found out.

“Thanks Les! Have a nice day!” Crutchie turned to leave. “Say hi to Davey and Sarah, would you please?” 

“Alright!” Les chirped. He turned to face the ovens. “DAVEY! SARAH! CRUTCHIE SAID HI!” he screamed. Crutchie laughed to himself as the door swung closed behind him.

Unfortunately, the next stop wouldn’t be nearly as pleasant. Since he had busted half of his grandmother’s savings betting on horses, Race Higgins had been working at the butcher’s shop. And if there was one thing Crutchie didn’t need, it was Race, and his constant dirty jokes.

“Hey, Crutchie!” Race yelled as soon as Crutchie walked through the door. “What’s it gonna be today?”

Crutchie sighed. “Two pounds of beef and a dozen sausage links,” he muttered, already knowing what would come next.

“That’s what she said.” Race grinned smugly as he wrapped the meat. If Race thought about that, he’d realize he’d just implied he had only two pounds of muscle and twelve, you know. But Race didn’t think, and thus was safe from any sort of intelligent comedy. 

By the time he had finished the last of his errands, Crutchie’s basket was heavy and full, and his arm hurt from gripping his crutch. He knew that at this rate he wouldn’t be back in time to cook lunch, and he prepared himself for getting yelled at (at best) by his stepbrothers.  _ At least the ground is flat _ , he thought as he began the journey home.

“Hey Crutchie!” Crutchie turned around to see Jack Kelly sitting on the roof of the potter’s shop. He waved jauntily and climbed down the water spout to walk next to Crutchie. “How’s it?”

“Oh, I’m fine.” Crutchie gave his stock response to the question. Sometimes he wanted to tell Jack that his family made him work all day and sleep in the attic and that they called him names. But Jack already worried about Crutchie too much, and knowing him he’d try to fight Snyder himself and be thrown in jail.

“Mind if I walk with ya?” Jack said.

“Be kind of pointless to refuse you now, wouldn't it?” Crutchie asked. Jack laughed, even though it wasn’t that funny. The two of them walked in silence for a while.

“Let me take your basket,” Jack insisted. If it were anyone else, Crutchie would refused the same offer, seeing as most people only helped him to impress the opposite sex. Now, he handed over the basket happily, knowing their friendship was worth more to Jack than the ladies.

At first, as always, Jack asked about Crutchie’s life, questions which he carefully evaded and fibbed his way through. Eventually, Jack gave up and began to blabber about his favorite topic.

“I tell ya Crutchie, there’s nothing like Santa Fe,” Jack said reverently. “They say the air there’s so clean, just one breath can heal any sickness! Maybe even your leg, eventually.”

“You do realize Santa Fe ain’t  _ real _ , right Jack?” Crutchie asked.

“Just cuz no one’s ever seen it doesn’t mean it ain’t real,” he protested. Crutchie rolled his eyes. “Besides, we could still go  _ somewher _ e together. Doesn’t have to be Santa Fe.” Jack looked at Crutchie pleadingly, and he felt a flicker of something hopeful in his chest. _ I ought to squash that before someone else does _ , Crutchie thought.

“I sincerely doubt that  _ air _ could heal anything. And as for your horse plan, I can’t ride, so there!” Crutchie grinned, the warm fuzziness gone.

“I’ll steal a carriage too, then!” Jack chirped.

“We couldn’t even steal a penny, much less a whole horse and carriage,” Crutchie laughed. “What are we, Bonnie and Clyde?” 

Jack blushed, then quickly launched into a tale of his recent run-ins with the local law enforcement, as if to prove himself. Distracted by his obviously false stories, Crutchie soon found himself back at his stepfather’s estate. He almost wished the walk was longer as Jack handed him the basket of food.

“See you later!” Crutchie said, voice coated in false enthusiasm. He turned quickly and walked back to the house. Jack waited at the gate, as usual. 

Just before Crutchie closed the door behind him, he heard Jack calling his name from the gate. He set the basket down inside and peered out the door. Jack stood awkwardly, one hand shoved into his pocket.

“What is it?” Crutchie asked. Jack motioned like he was going to take something out of his pocket, then stopped.

“Just… have a nice day!” He said hastily, turning on one heel and running away. Crutchie shrugged and closed the door just as the clock tower began chiming twelve. As much as he’d like to mull over Jack’s strange behavior, Crutchie had work to do. He headed into the kitchen to make lunch.


	2. A Letter from the Queen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warnings: emotional abuse, ableism, yelling

The next morning, on the way to town, Crutchie saw that the mailbox door was slightly open.  _ That’s strange _ , Crutchie thought. Most of the time, mail for his stepfather was delivered to the courtroom, and no one wrote to him or his brothers. He opened the mailbox, withdrew the letter and gasped.

The envelope was made of sturdy, gold paper. There was no address or sender written. The only form of identification was the seal- red wax stamped with the royal crest. Crutchie was so excited he almost opened the letter then and there, but luckily he stopped himself. Instead, he limped as fast as he could back towards the manor.

“Sir! We have mail from the queen!” Crutchie yelled, waving the letter like a semaphore. He quickly passed the envelope to Snyder, who turned it over.

“So it appears,” Snyder murmured. Finally, he broke the seal and slid the letter  out. The paper was expensive- stark white and thin, and the lettering was written in black, illegible (to Crutchie, at least) cursive. He bounced anxiously as his stepfather read the letter.

“Please sir, could you read it to me?” he asked finally. His stepfather scowled at him.

“Very well.” He sighed dramatically. “Oscar! Morris!” Crutchie’s stepbrothers bounded into the room, and Snyder began to read.

“To the citizens of the Kingdom of New York,” he began,

“Queen Medda of Manhattan invites every person, young or old, rich or poor, boy or girl, to a royal ball on June the twenty- first, the summer solstice. Come in your nicest clothes, but do not feel the need to buy anything special. Transportation to the palace will be provided. The ball starts at sunset and ends at sunrise. Signed, her royal highness, Medda Larkin.”

He folded the letter. “Why would the queen invite a bunch of  _ commoners _ to the palace?” He spat the word commoners like a bite of rotten fruit. “Probably just wants to look all benevolent so she can keep stealing from us wealthy folk.”

“We’re still going though, right?” Morris pleaded.

“Of course we’re _ going _ , don’t be stupid,” Snyder sneered. All three boys laughed giddily. 

“Alright, I’ve read your letter,” Snyder nodded at Crutchie. “Run along now. Or rather-” he nodded at Crutchie’s leg. Crutchie got the message, and left to run his errands.

Around the town, all anyone was talking about was the ball.

“A ball for everyone in the kingdom- I don’t believe that’s ever been done before!” Davey mused as he passed Crutchie his bread.

“I don’t think I have anything nice enough to wear- what if everyone else is wearing nice suits and dresses and stuff and I’m there dressed like this?” Albert asked, gesturing at his sturdy woodcutter’s garb.

“Crutchie. Think about it. Every girl. In the  _ whole country _ .” Race waggled his eyebrows at Crutchie. 

That afternoon, Snyder pulled Oscar and Morris out of classes to have their suits tailored. The shop would be sending two apprentices instead of a fully trained worker, and Snyder made certain everyone knew he disapproved of that fact.

“They had to send the  _ children _ too, didn’t they? I thought I asked for their  _ best  _ tailor!” he griped.

“Do you mean Specs and Buttons?” Crutchie asked. “They’re both really good at tailoring, better than some of the grown ups working there. Oscar and Morris are in good hands, I promise.”

“Specs and Buttons?” Snyder asked. “What kind of-” he stopped, then whirled around. “Are those some of those stupid nicknames your friends give each other? Do you know them?” he demanded.

“Yes,” Crutchie said carefully. He had done something wrong, but he wasn’t sure what. When his stepfather didn’t immediately begin to shout, he continued hesitantly. “Specs and I are friends, but I don’t really know Buttons, so-”

“Clean the kitchen,” Snyder cut him off.

“I cleaned the kitchen this morning, sir,” Crutchie said, hoping manners would save him, or at least partially shield him from his stepfather’s unpredictable wrath.

“I. Don’t. Care. I said clean the kitchen, and you’ll clean that kitchen again. Do you hear me boy? You clean until the kitchen is fit for a KING-” The doorbell rang, and Snyder cursed. “Just go, alright?” Crutchie, completely baffled, took a step backwards. “NOW!” Snyder roared, and Crutchie limped to the kitchen as fast as he could.

Through the crack in the door, Crutchie could hear Snyder greeting the two tailors and guiding them to the living room. From what he could hear, they hadn’t heard a single word Snyder had shouted at Crutchie. Even so, he pressed his ear to the crack between the wall and the door in hopes of hearing what they were talking about.

“... be going too?” one of his brothers, Crutchie couldn’t tell which, asked. Whatever the question was, the answer was a strong yes from Buttons and Specs.

“What about Crutchie? Is he going?” Specs asked. 

“Yeah, why aren’t we working on him too?” Buttons added. Crutchie strained to hear what his stepfather was saying, but he couldn’t quite make it out. Normally, Crutchie’s stepfather made sure absolutely everyone could hear what he had to say, whether they wanted to or not. So why would he be so quiet now?

“Oh, okay,” Specs said, clearly disappointed. From there on, the only noise coming from the living room were the sounds of Specs and Buttons working and the occasional complaint from Crutchie’s brothers. Occasionally, Crutchie put his ear back to the door, but nothing changed, and the appointment continued on without interruption.

After about 30 minutes, the two boys began packing up to leave, and Crutchie realized he had done very little actual cleaning. Frantically, he dropped to the floor and began running a soapy cloth between the tiles. The floor itself was clean, but the grime stuck in the divots was too deeply ingrained to be removed by anything but magic. The floor outside the kitchen door creaked, and Crutchie braced himself.

Snyder barely glanced at the kitchen before saying “Alright, you’re done.” Crutchie pulled himself to his feet, suddenly hopeful.

“By done, do you mean-” 

“You still have other chores, of course.” Crutchie’s shoulders sagged again. “You need to dust the library and shake out the rugs, and make dinner.”

_ Library, rugs, dinner _ . “Should I get the groceries-”

“No, I’ll get them myself.” He said the phrase nonchalantly, as if he hadn’t been making Crutchie do every mundane task imaginable for almost ten years. Crutchie gaped at Snyder.

“Are you sure?” he asked. _ This is obviously a joke _ , he thought. _ Just wait, he’s going to tell me that he wants me to buy the food, and some iron pans while I’m at it. Or maybe he’s been replaced with a doppelganger who hasn’t gotten the hang of pretending to be him yet. _

“Yes, I’m  _ sure _ ,” his stepfather sneered. “Now didn’t I give you work to do? Or have you decided you’ll just be a useless burden like every other bum with a bad leg?” That was his stepfather, alright.

Crutchie climbed the stairs to the library. The room was large and dusty, as it was rarely used. Oscar and Morris only used it when they couldn’t bribe their way out of a bad grade, and Snyder prided himself on not reading. In fact, it seemed the only time someone even opened the door was when Crutchie had to clean there.

Still, Crutchie enjoyed the time to think as he ran a feather duster along the tops of the books and shelves. Or, at least, he usually did. Today, he found his thoughts drifting back to Specs, Buttons, and the overheard conversation with his stepfather. What had Snyder said to them that made them so-

With a start, Crutchie realized that his stepfather hadn’t actually cared whether the kitchen was clean or not. He had wanted Crutchie out of sight. But what did it matter if Specs and Buttons saw him? They knew he lived here, so there would be no reason to hide him from them.  _ Unless _ , Crutchie thought,  _ Snyder didn’t want me answering whatever question they asked about me. _

As he shook the library’s rug out the window, Crutchie resolved to find out what Specs has asked about him, and give him his real answer.


	3. Getting to the Bottom of it

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More like getting to the Jack of it, am I right? Trigger warnings: referenced physical abuse, internalized self-hatred, ableism, and a vaguely sexual comment.

Crutchie didn’t usually go to the tailor’s shop when he didn’t have to. It was up a hill, and the path leading up to it desperately needed to be repaved. But today, he climbed the hill and, gasping for breath, entered the shop.

“Good morning,” he told the owner. “Are Specs or Buttons working today? Er, I mean, James and Alexander?”

“Yes, Alex is available right now. Would you like me to call him for you?” she replied.

“Yes please.” As soon as the shop owner turned her back, Crutchie collapsed onto an overstuffed magenta stool. The patrons of the shop quickly looked away.

“Hello, how may I help you?” Crutchie jumped a little as Buttons suddenly appeared in front of him.

“Oh, I don’t need anything, I just wanted to ask you something. Is that ok?” Crutchie asked.

“Oh, that’s fine,” Buttons said, taking a seat across from him. “What is it?”

“When you were over at my stepfather’s manor, Specs asked my stepfather whether I was ‘coming too’. What was that about, and what did he answer?” 

“Oh, you know, we wanted to know if you were planning on going to the ball. Because you weren’t getting anything tailored and all.” Buttons waved his hand dismissively.

“Yeah, but what did he say?” Crutchie asked, leaning forward on his elbows.

“He said you weren’t coming, because-”

“I am!” Crutchie protested, suddenly angry. Buttons jumped back, and with a start Crutchie realized that every patron in the shop was staring at them. He waved awkwardly. “I mean, I’m still going to the ball,” Crutchie corrected himself. “Sorry for shouting at you, Buttons.”

“It’s fine,” Buttons sighed, “But you might want to leave before- oh, there she is.” The shop owner was gesturing at Buttons to follow her into the fitting rooms.

“Tell everyone I’m going, ok?” Crutchie said, pulling himself to his feet. “And I’m sorry if you got in trouble.” Buttons gave him the thumbs up as he went into the back rooms.

As Crutchie slowly, carefully made his way down the hill, he saw Jack climbing his way up. Jack waved furiously from the bottom, and Crutchie involuntarily smiled.

“Hey Crutchie! Why didn’t I see you yesterday?” Jack asked, taking his usual place beside Crutchie. “I was looking for you all over!”

“Oh really? You should’ve come looking for me in my own house, then,” Crutchie responded. 

“Well, I would, but your stepdad scares me,” Jack admitted, rubbing the back of his head abashedly.  _ That makes two of us, _ Crutchie thought.

“Don’t you have better things to do than run all over town looking for some gimp?” he asked.

“Something better to do than you? No way!” Jack said. His face quickly paled as he realized what he had said. “I mean, finding you. I meant finding you.”

“Okay, okay, I get it.” Crutchie shifted his weight to his good leg to punch Jack in the arm. “Just be glad Race isn’t here, he’d never let you live that one down.”

“Never let him live what one down?” Race asked.

Jack immediately clapped a hand over Crutchie’s mouth. “Oh hey, that cloud looks like a dog!” He yelped. Crutchie pulled Jack’s hand away.

“Calm down, Jack, I wasn’t gonna tell him,” Crutchie said. “I’m not evil.”

“Awww man,” Race whined, then quickly composed himself and began walking through town with them. “As much as I’d like to see Jack be publically humiliated, I was actually stalking you guys for a reason. You’re both going to the ball, right?” Crutchie looked at Jack, who nodded.

“Yeah, why?” Crutchie asked. 

“Oh, just wanted to know,” Race giggled, his face curling into a sly grin. Jack and Crutchie exchanged a worried look. 

“Oh- okay?” Jack said. “See you there, I guess?” 

“See you there,” Race said knowingly. He turned around and ducked into the butcher’s shop, giggling like a schoolboy. Jack and Crutchie stared at him in confusion.

“Oh yeah, that reminds me,” Jack said, breaking the awkward silence. “I needed to tell something to you too. Or ask you something, rather.” He began leading the way out of the main square. Crutchie followed him.

“Hey, where’re you going?” he asked.

“Just somewhere a little less crowded,” Jack answered. He stopped halfway down an alleyway, almost bumping into Crutchie as he turned to face him. He peered up at Jack.

“Okay, what is it?”

“At the ball, can you find me before midnight? I have to… tell you something.” Jack shuffled from foot to foot.

“Sure, but why can’t you tell me now?” Crutchie asked.

“It’s kinda… confidential.” 

“Jack, you’re scaring- wait a second.” Crutchie sighed deeply. “ _ Please _ tell me you didn’t actually steal a horse and carriage.”

“Oh! No, it’s not anything illegal, I just wanted to make sure no one could overhear us, especially with the whole Race- stalking- us development.”

“Which is obviously why you’re planning on telling me this in a crowded ballroom, instead of this perfectly good alleyway” Crutchie concluded.

“I’m not going to-” Jack cut himself off. “Look, I’ve got a plan, okay? And it’s gonna work. I just need you to go along with it for a bit.” Part of Crutchie wanted to say  _ no, you can talk about it here like a regular person _ . But the look of worry and anxiety on Jack’s face stopped him.

“Alright, Jack. See ya ‘round,” Crutchie said. Jack nodded and almost sprinted out of the alleyway. Crutchie halfheartedly waved at his receding figure. Even for Jack Kelly, that was bizarre. What could possibly be better to talk about in a ballroom than an alleyway?

And then it hit him. Crutchie immediately patted his face, but the familiar ache of touching a bruise never came. He inspected his visible skin- completely clear. Jack had mentioned looking for him yesterday- maybe Crutchie’s absence had made him suspicious?  _ Don’t be stupid _ , a little voice told him.  _ Even if he beat you in public, no one pays enough attention to you to notice your stepfather hates you _ . But nothing could extinguish the tiny spark of hope inside him that Jack had  _ noticed,  _ finally someone had  _ noticed _ .

The clock chimed, and Crutchie was forced out of his happy daze. The stop in the tailor’s shop plus his little talk with Jack had taken up more time than he had planned, and unless he wanted to get in a whole lot of trouble, he needed to hurry. Scooping his basket up from the dirty ground, he limped as quickly as he could towards the town square.


	4. The Cherrywood Crutch

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Halloween everyone! To celebrate, I'm delivering some angst! Trick or treat, bitches! Trigger Warnings: Ableism, emotional abuse, physical abuse, a curse word, self deprecating thoughts, and yelling. Don't worry, I promise it ends well!

Crutchie pushed the folded shirts in his dresser back and forth. Normally getting dressed was as simple as grabbing whatever shirt- pants combination was closest, but dressing for a day of chores and errands was  _ completely _ different from dressing for the largest royal ball in the history of New York. He tried to remember what Specs had told him about dressing well.

He found his cleanest looking shirt- that is to say, his darkest one. He matched it with a pair of light colored pants, and snuck into Oscar’s room to “borrow” a belt and a grey tie. He pulled open the wardrobe and gazed at himself in the mirror. Staring back at him was a poorly- dressed orphan with a crutch he had long outgrown and hair that hadn’t been cut or washed in far too long. Specs would be proud.

Crutchie hopped down the stairs and into the living room, where Snyder was attempting to untangle Morris’s tie. The doorbell rang, and Snyder shouted at Crutchie to get the door. It was the coach they had hired- like hell Snyder would show up by  _ public transportation _ like some  _ commoner _ ! Crutchie invited the coach driver in while his stepfamily hastened to fix up their outfits.

Finally, both Oscar and Morris were ready, and the driver led them to the coach. Snyder and Crutchie followed, Crutchie closing and locking the door behind him.

“Why are  _ you _ here?” Snyder whirled around to face Crutchie at the sound of the door closing. The driver stared at his watch pointedly.

“I’m… getting into the coach, sir,” Crutchie said, deciding that honestly was the best way to go now.

“And why are you doing  _ that _ ?” his stepfather demanded. Crutchie took a step backwards.

“To go to the ball, sir,” He squeaked. The coach driver very carefully looked away, whistling awkwardly. Snyder pushed Crutchie aside and unlocked the door.

“You’re not going to the  _ ball _ ,” he sneered, “You’re staying right here.” He opened the door and pointed. “Now  _ get inside _ .”

“No?” Crutchie said, even as he backed into the house. “The Queen said that  _ everyone _ was invited, I’m gonna go!” He remembered his promise to Jack, and the hope he had felt then. He straightened his back as much as he could without falling over, and looked his stepfather right in the eye.

“Why do you even want to go?” Oscar called from inside the coach. “It’s not like you can dance with anyone.”

“And with a face like that, who would want to?” Morris added. From inside the coach came the sound of the two brothers high- fiving.

“My friends are going to be there,” Crutchie said, then immediately recognised his mistake as Snyder shoved him inside the house. His foot bounced against the floor, and he hissed as a shock of pain arced up his leg.

“My word is FINAL! YOU ARE GROUNDED, DO YOU HEAR ME?” Snyder roared. “YOU MAY NOT TAKE A COACH TO THE BALL!”

“Then I’ll walk!” Crutchie spat. He pulled himself to his feet, suddenly feeling brave. He strode purposefully past his stepfather, and almost made it out the door before his crutch was ripped out from beneath him. 

The next few seconds passed as slowly as molasses dripping from a jar. Crutchie threw his hands out behind him to catch his fall, but his eyes were glued to the scene in front of him. In one motion, Snyder raised his knee, positioning the crutch above it. He brought the crutch down, and it snapped like a twig. The sound was like a slap to the face, but Crutchie was used to being slapped. Never before had his stepfather done something as awful as taking away the very privilege of walking.

“I changed my mind.” Snyder threw the splintery halves to the ground by Crutchie’s feet. “You can go to the ball.” Laughing uproariously at his cruel joke, he turned and walked out, slamming the door behind him. Somehow, Crutchie managed not to cry until the sound of hoofbeats had faded into the night.

Crutchie’s tears dried surprisingly quickly. He pulled himself to his feet, picked up the two pieces of his crutch, and stumbled towards the kitchen. Maybe he could glue his crutch back together? By the time the glue had dried, the ball would be in full swing, and his stepfather wouldn’t even notice he was there. His thoughts were interrupted as the sound of the doorbell rang throughout the empty house. He dropped the pieces of his crutch on the floor and crawled to the door, pulling himself up by the doorknob and opening the door.

“Hey where- Jesus, what happened to you?” Race asked. Albert and Davey peered out from behind him. “Where’s your crutch?” Crutchie started to speak, but caught himself. If he told Race the truth, he would undoubtedly attempt vengeance by arson. Given that Snyder was a judge in the Manhattan area, it was likely that he would at least hear of the case, if not preside over it. And Snyder had told Crutchie many times that if he  _ ever _ told  _ anyone _ about what he did to him, he would break his other leg and ditch him in the woods.

“I fell,” Crutchie said lamely. “I fell, and my crutch hit the side of a table, and it broke.” He could tell Race didn’t quite believe that, but he shrugged and invited himself in anyway.

“Hey, it’s kinda strange you broke your crutch today,” Albert mentioned. He walked into the hall, arms folded behind his back. “Because I noticed that your crutch wasn’t the right height…” He helped Crutchie up with one hand, barely containing a grin. “So I made you this!” 

He pulled the other hand out from behind his back and handed Crutchie a long stick of glossy red wood. It took him a few seconds to realize it was a crutch. He carefully propped himself up on it, realizing that he could finally stand up straight. An ache in his back he hadn’t noticed was there faded away, and he grinned.

“It’s cherry wood,” Albert stated proudly. “Can’t break  _ that _ on a table!” 

“Here, take this,” Race said, pushing a soaking washcloth into Crutchie’s other hand. “Hold it over your eyes, it’ll be like you weren’t crying at all!”

“We asked a coach to follow us here, so you wouldn’t have to walk as far,” Davey said.

Crutchie pulled the cloth away from his eyes and wiped the cold water off of his face. He half sobbed, half chuckled at the display of kindness. He struggled to find words to display how much this meant to him.

“I have the  _ best friends _ ,” Crutchie sniffled.

“Damn right you do!” Race yelled. He slapped Crutchie on the back in a brotherly sort of way, and together the four boys walked out to where the coach was waiting.

The coach was roundish, pulled by two palomino horses, and oddly enough orange. But Crutchie hardly noticed anything but his heart thudding in his chest and his mounting excitement as Albert helped him inside and the coach began rolling towards the castle. In fact, it was only when they were at the palace that Crutchie realized what- or rather, who- was missing.

“Where’s Jack?” he asked Davey as the coach rolled away to pick up other partygoers.

“Oh, he said he’d meet us there,” Davey answered, “Because he’s Jack.” Crutchie laughed at the jab, but he knew the real reason. Jack didn’t want to have to lose his friends before he found Crutchie and told him… whatever it was.

“Maybe you should find him,” Race hinted, nodding at Crutchie. “Come get us when you find him?”

“Uh, sure?” Crutchie answered. 

“Great,” Race said conspiratorially. He winked at Crutchie as the group began to climb towards the palace. With a sinking feeling, Crutchie noticed the huge flight of stairs leading up to it, but then he saw a sign pointing to a more gradual path to the castle. He walked up the road, through the royal gardens, until he reached the grand doorway to the ballroom. 


	5. The Royal Ball

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After all that angst, here's some nice lovey- dovey homosexuality as a reward! Trigger warnings: self- hatred and implied abuse.

There was no other way to say it- the ball was spectacular. A thousand lamps lit the room, each of them a different color of stained glass. An orchestra, all dressed in blue and gold, played a waltz, and couples twirled across the shining dance floor. Crutchie didn’t even realize he had been holding his breath until his head spun. He quickly sucked in a lungful of fresh air.

There were two curved staircases leading down into the ballroom, but they were much more gradual than the ones leading up. As he walked down, Crutchie noticed that each side had a ramp built on the side closest to the wall. With his new crutch, the climb took half the time as the stairs at home, and soon Crutchie found himself standing on the same tiles that servants, esteemed guests, and royals had stood on for a hundred years.

From the bottom of the steps, the dance floor looked less like a work of art and more like an unruly swarm of humans. Quickly realizing he would never get through the throng, Crutchie moved to the side of the ballroom and began making his way around the room instead. He peered at the dancers, but he couldn’t see past the first few couples. Glancing at the clock, Crutchie realized it was already 11:15. How had so much time passed so quickly?

Distracted, Crutchie walked right into another person, almost falling onto a table of tiny strawberry cheesecakes. He steadied himself, looking up at the person who had knocked him over. 

“I’m sorry, I-” Crutchie cut himself off as he realized who he was talking to. Jack looked nice every day, but tonight he seemed to glow. His hair was slicked back, his navy blue suit fit perfectly, and Crutchie could smell the faintest hints of orange and cinnamon from where he stood.

“Crutchie! Fancy bumping into you here!” Jack snorted at the absurdity of his own joke, then recovered a bit of his senses. “You alright?” 

“I’m fine,” Crutchie muttered, suddenly aware of how pitifully underdressed he was. “So, last week…”

“Right.” Jack looked around to see if anyone was eavesdropping on them. “Follow me.” Crutchie grabbed Jack’s hand and he led him around the crowd and through a door behind the orchestra. The door led into a small garden filled with scented flowers and fruit trees, lit only by the light of the moon and the party inside.

“Sit down,” Jack said, gesturing to a wooden bench. “I mean, if you want.” Crutchie took a seat next to his friend. He noticed the same look of anxiety on Jack’s face from when he had asked Crutchie to meet him.

“Are you okay?” he asked, turning in his seat to look at Jack.

“Crutchie, I haven’t been entirely honest with you.” Immediately, Crutchie’s heart began to thud, and his mind filled with all the terrible things that could have meant. Jack must have noticed, because he quickly spoke again.

“My name isn’t actually Jack Kelly. It’s Francis Sullivan.” Crutchie sighed. He was grateful it wasn’t anything bad, but why-

“What?” Crutchie yelped. Jack frantically shushed him, glancing nervously at the closed door into the castle. “Francis Sullivan?” Crutchie whisper- yelled. “As in,  _ prince _ Francis Sullivan?”

“Yeah,” Jack muttered, looking almost ashamed of himself. He stared at the moon while Crutchie tried to process what he had heard. Jack was the prince. His  _ best friend _ was the  _ prince _ .

“I…” Jack started, looking at Crutchie, asking if he could continue. “When I was thirteen, I came up with the idea of pretending to be a commoner to get better insight into what it was really like to live in the kingdom. And I did!” Jack coughed, and Crutchie saw his face turn red. “But that wasn’t the only reason why I wanted to. Mostly, I just wanted to… spend time with you.” 

Crutchie hadn’t noticed them moving closer together, but their foreheads were almost touching now. “Now, I don’t know what’s going on with you and your family, but I’m pretty sure it ain’t right.  _ It ain’t right _ for a grown man to make his kid do all the work around the house, especially not someone like you.” Jack nodded at Crutchie’s bad leg. “So, I wanted to ask… I wanted to ask you to come live in the palace with me. Because you’re my friend, and because… because I love you.”

Crutchie’s head swam as he thought about what Jack had just said. Jack wanted him to live in the castle with him! His stepfather would never let him live in the castle with Jack. Jack would keep him safe from his stepfather! His stepfather would find him and hurt him, or hurt his friends. Jack loved him. He did not deserve to be loved.

“I… I have to think about this.” Crutchie scrambled to his feet, backing towards the door. Jack’s face fell, and Crutchie turned to him. “This isn’t a no, Jack.” Then he limped as fast as he could back into the chaos of the ballroom.

The vague idea to climb the stairs flickered in Crutchie’s mind. Maybe the aerial view of the spinning dancers in their brightly colored gowns would calm him down and help him think. By the time he was looking down on the ball, his thudding heart had stopped feeling like it was trying to escape his chest. He scanned the ballroom, but Jack didn’t appear to have left the garden. Or should he call him Francis now? 

Crutchie tried to ignore his feelings of anxiety and guilt and look at the facts. He didn’t want to have to work himself half to death every day to avoid a beating. He didn’t want to wake up already in pain. And most importantly, he loved Jack. Jack, who was nice to him, not for attention or praise, but because that was how he was. Jack, who had always been prettier than any girl. Jack, who loved him and promised to keep him safe.

Crutchie made his decision just before midnight. He would tell Jack  _ yes, of  _ course _ he would come live in the castle with him _ ! Crutchie began to move down the stairs, but was stopped when hands that smelled like expensive cigars clamped onto him, one over his mouth and one on the top of his head. Hot, rancid breath blew over his ear.

“Well fancy seeing you here,” Snyder whispered.


	6. The Stroke of Twelve

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know how people say it gets better before it gets worse? Well, it's getting worse now. Trigger warnings: ableism, explicit physical and emotional abuse, suicide and death mention. Don't worry babs, just remember that it all ends happily ever after.

Crutchie’s stepfather dragged him out of the palace and into the cold night air as the many clocks of the palace began to chime.

“I thought I told you to stay at home,” he said, barely keeping himself from screaming.

“But- but you said- after you broke my crutch-” Crutchie stuttered.

“We’re going home. Now.” Snyder grabbed the crutch out from under Crutchie. “Where did you find this?”

“Albert gave it to me,” Crutchie squeaked. His stepfather wrinkled his nose in distaste and threw it to the ground.

“Oscar, Morris, we’re going home.” Crutchie hadn’t noticed the boys behind Snyder. They were unnaturally quiet, watching the fight with wide eyes. “We’re going  _ home _ ,” Snyder reiterated. He grabbed Crutchie by the back of his shirt and forced him down the slick marble staircase, leaving his crutch behind.

By the time they got to the bottom, Crutchie was dizzy with pain. The carriage driver started to ask if he was okay, but Snyder told him to shut up and do his job. The ride home was eerily quiet; the loudest noise in the carriage was the soft creak of the wheels. By the time they had gotten to the house, Crutchie was sick with dread. The yelling he could deal with, but this was too strange, too alien.

“Do you need help?” the coach driver asked, and Crutchie realized that his stepfamily had already left the carriage. From behind the driver, Snyder shook his head.

“No thank you,” Crutchie muttered, gingerly lowering himself onto the cobblestone drive. Without his crutch, the path to the house may as well have been a hundred miles. 

“Go straight to your rooms,” Snyder instructed Oscar and Morris. They walked towards the house, and Crutchie turned to go too, but his stepfather stopped him. He stared blankly at the carriage as it drove away. When the horse’s hooves had stopped echoing, he turned to Crutchie.

“What did you tell them?” he demanded.

“I didn’t say anything,” Crutchie whispered. “They noticed all by themselves. Maybe you oughta been more careful, huh?” The triumphant smile was quickly wiped off his face as Snyder brought his fist across it. Crutchie fell to the ground, his hands smarting as he broke his fall.

“Go inside,” his stepfather commanded. Crutchie started to stand, using him as support, but his stepfather shook him off. “No need to stand. You can crawl like the useless mutt you are.”

Laboriously, Crutchie dragged himself into the house. He collapsed on the rug in the entryway, arms burning and chest heaving. He didn’t notice Snyder picking up the longer half of his crutch until it slammed into his skull.

“WHAT DID YOU TELL THEM?” he bellowed. Crutchie tried to choke out an answer, but every time he opened his mouth a foot or a fist or a stick would slam into him, knocking the air out of his lungs.

“Dad, stop! You’re scaring me!” The pain stopped just long enough for Crutchie to see Snyder turn his rage on his sons, swinging the stick at them and screaming at them to  _ stay out of this, you worthless morons _ ! The boys ran screaming up the stairs, and Crutchie braced himself for more pain.

“What. Did. You. Tell. Them.” Crutchie shook his head. 

“Nothing, sir,” he whispered. He hadn’t realized he had been screaming, but now his throat burned and his voice was barely there.

“Then  _ why, _ ” his stepfather growled, “Did that hooligan know to bring you a new crutch? Why is that Jack fellow always hanging around, acting like your personal bodyguard?” 

“They like me, sir,” Crutchie croaked. His stepfather raised the crutch, and he buried his head in his hands, but Snyder didn’t hit him. 

“They don’t  _ like _ you.” Snyder bent down, until his face almost touched Crutchie’s. “Who would want to be friends with some needy, irritating little gimp? They probably just pretend to like you so you don’t  _ feel bad _ .” He said the words like facts, and Crutchie found himself believing them, if only for a second. He gritted his teeth, making the only sound in the deathly quiet house.

“Can you write?” Crutchie looked up at his stepfather, thrown by the completely out of place question. When he didn’t answer, Snyder grabbed him by the shirt and lifted him up. “I  _ said _ , can you  _ write _ , or are you stupid  _ and _ crippled?”

“I can write! I can write!” Crutchie yelped. Snyder’s face twisted into a grim facsimile of a smile. Crutchie’s heart sank. His stepfather only smiled when he was about to do something horrible.

“Good.” Snyder carried a whimpering Crutchie into his office and threw him carelessly into his desk chair. He yanked open a drawer and slammed a stack of paper onto the desk in front of Crutchie. He forcibly opened Crutchie’s hand and slid a fountain pen between his fingers.

“You are going to write a letter,” he giggled madly. “Write a letter to all your stupid little friends and tell them you never ever want to see them again!” Snyder cackled with glee. Crutchie choked out a dry sob, burying his head in his arms. 

“Don’t you dare get any tears on it,” his stepfather scolded. “We can stay up all night if we have to!” 

Crutchie stared down at the papers, dreading the moment when he would have to put pen to paper. Through all the starving, the beatings, the names and the threats, Crutchie could at least depend on his friends to be there to cheer him up and help him along. After this letter was sent, he would have no solace from the evil of his stepfather.

_ To the people who know me _ , Crutchie wrote. His eyes blurred and hot tears streamed down his cheeks.

“There there,” his stepfather growled, pounding the broken crutch against his open palm. “No tears. This needs to be done.” Crutchie scrubbed furiously at his face with his sleeve and picked the pen up again.

_ I am writing this letter to say goodbye _ . At least that was true.  _ Although it may seem that I enjoy spending time with you, that could not be further from the truth. I don’t need you to patronize me by pretending to like me. I don’t need your help. I know you only hang out with me to get girls anyway. So, from now on, I don’t want you to talk to me again. _

Crutchie put the pen down. His body was shaking too hard to write clearly anyway. If he sent this letter, he would die. Whether by his stepfather’s hand or his own, he would die without his friends to support him. There had to be some way to…

Suddenly, Crutchie got a very good idea. He bit his lip to keep from smiling as he wrote the last sentence of his letter.  _ Our friendship was as real as Santa Fe. Signed, Crutchie. _

“Here,” Crutchie said, passing the letter to his stepfather. He read it over, then folded it, satisfied with the lies Crutchie had told. 

“Good boy. I’ll deliver it in the morning.” Snyder pulled an envelope out of the drawer. 

“Wait!” Crutchie stuttered out, and his stepfather glared at him. “Could you, do you think you could deliver it to Jack? Just- just tell Davey, he always buys bread first thing in the morning…” Crutchie could tell he was making his stepfather suspicious, but he needed Jack to see the letter. If he read it, he might realize that Crutchie didn’t hate him at all, that he loved him…

“Fine. Now get to sleep.” Crutchie practically fell of the chair. He landed hard on his shoulder, where a blue-purple bruise was already forming. He dragged himself up the stairs, past his stepbrothers’ rooms, silent except for muffled sobs, and caught his breath under the attic trapdoor.

Snyder pulled the heavy keys out of his pocket and removed the padlock. “Sleep tight, Crutchie, you’ve got a big day tomorrow.” Crutchie barely managed to heave himself onto the floor of the attic. He lay on the dusty wood floor as his stepfather locked him in, then walked away laughing. 

In the back of his mind, a voice told Crutchie that whatever was happening tomorrow would be so much worse than just losing his friends, but Crutchie was too tired to wonder what it could mean. He was too tired even to drag himself to his bare mattress. Crutchie pulled off his shirt and balled it up. He placed the makeshift pillow under his head and fell into a deep sleep.


	7. Prince Charming

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warnings: physical, emotional, and verbal abuse, ableism. Also, Crutchie for sass king 2019

When Crutchie awoke, splayed on the splintery attic floor, he wasn’t sad that his friends would never talk to him again. He wasn’t angry that his stepfather had made them think he hated them. He wasn’t pleased to see the blue light of day streaming in through his window, warming his cold body. He hardly even felt the dozens of bruises that peppered almost every part of his body. Crutchie was completely numb.

Eventually, Crutchie managed enough energy to roll over and crawl to his dresser. He pulled the first clean shirt he saw out and buttoned it over his bruised ribs. Then, exhausted from that small amount of exertion, he slumped to the ground.

His rest didn’t last long. “Rise and shine!” an unnaturally cheery Snyder called from the floor below. Crutchie hauled himself to a sitting position just before his stepfather’s head popped through the open trapdoor. He heaved a trunk up onto the floor and grinned maliciously.

“Pack your things,” he sneered. “We’re moving.” His head disappeared as the trapdoor closed. Packing didn’t take too long- besides his clothes, Crutchie didn’t have anything to pack. He pushed the trunk down the ladder and stairs, pushing himself behind. His leg slammed into a step or twisted unnaturally more times than he could count, but Crutchie didn’t particularly care.

The first emotion Crutchie felt that day came when he pulled himself into the dining room. Oscar and Morris sat at the table, eyes red from lack of sleep- and crying. Morris’s arm was bruised a deep purple, and Oscar sported two black eyes and a broken nose. A flicker of pure contempt passed through Crutchie. No wonder the boys had never stuck up for him before, if this was what happened when they did! But the feeling passed quickly.

“Well?” Snyder asked. He stood in front of the door, arms crossed. Behind him were a mountain of trunks and suitcases. “Go cook breakfast, worm. We won’t be eating until we get where we’re going, and let me tell you, we’re going far, far away.” 

“Yes sir.” The words tumbled automatically from Crutchie’s lips. Snyder broke into a grin. 

“Good to know that you’ve learned your place,” he beamed. “Oscar, Morris, what do you want to eat?”

“Whatever,” Oscar said dejectedly. Morris lifted his head out of his hands momentarily.  _ Sorry _ , he mouthed.

“Oh, and one last thing,” Snyder called. “When we get to our new home, you’re not my family. You’re  _ hired help _ .” Crutchie nodded and pushed himself up to his hands, and was preparing to move to the kitchen when the doorbell rang. Everyone in the house turned to stare at the door. After a short pause, the doorbell rang again twice.

“Oscar, Morris, go to your rooms, and don’t even  _ think _ of coming down until I tell you to.” The boys leaped out of their chairs and practically sprinted up the stairs. As the doorbell rang a third time, Snyder turned his gaze on Crutchie. He grabbed him by the shirt collar and lugged him into the pantry. Crutchie heard the door lock, and he listened to his stepfather’s footsteps as he walked to the door and opened it.

“What do you-” Snyder cut off as he saw who was on the other side of the door. The person walked in, followed by a large group.

“Good morning, Justice Snyder,” said Jack Kelly. “I have something to return to your son.”

“He’s not here,” Snyder blurted immediately. “You can leave now, no point in staying-”

“With all due respect, Justice Snyder, I am your prince. You do not tell me what to do.” The group of people moved into the dining room. “Now, if you’d please show me where Crutchie is, I have something to return to him.” Crutchie sat up as best he could and feebly knocked on the pantry door. It didn’t make as much sound as he’d hoped- the only thing it did was make his bruised hand smart.

“I’m sorry, but no one named ‘Crutchie’ lives here,” Snyder said tightly. “So if you’d please-”

“I’d love to take your word for it,” Jack interrupted, “But I’ve literally seen him walk into this house almost every day. If you please-” somewhere in the house, a door opened. Jack’s voice became muffled as he searched the ground floor.

Finally, he made his way to the kitchen. Crutchie pounded on the door to the pantry again, but it didn’t make a sound. Jack was painfully close now- if it weren’t for the thick door between them, Crutchie could have reached out and touched him.

“Why’d you lock your pantry?” Jack asked. Crutchie could hear his stepfather grasping for a reason.

“We’re moving, you see, and-”

“That doesn’t explain anything!” Jack shouted. The house was silent for a moment. Finally, Jack spoke.

“Open the pantry door, please.” His tone was polite, but Crutchie could hear the barely suppressed anger in his voice.

“Your highness, this is an absurd invasion of my-”

“I am your prince. You will open the door.” The room was silent once more. Then, Crutchie heard the jingling of Snyder’s key ring as he tossed it over to Jack.

“Thank you. And don’t let him leave the house.” There was a scraping sound as Jack tried to fit a key into the pantry lock. The second key he tried didn’t fit either, nor the third or the fourth or the fifth.

“Goddammit, why does he need so many-” the key slid into the lock. Crutchie held his breath, suddenly scared that Jack would change his mind and leave him here forever. Then the key turned, and light flooded into the pantry.

“Crutchie, why- oh god.” Jack crumpled to the ground in front of him, shaking. As Crutchie’s eyes adjusted to the light, he saw Jack’s eyes glimmer with tears. 

“Did- did your stepdad do this to you?” he whispered fearfully. Crutchie opened his mouth to answer, but the words couldn’t come out. Instead he closed his eyes and nodded.

“Alright. You’re alright. Do you need help getting up?” Jack held out his hand, and Crutchie shakily stood. “I believe this belongs to you,” Jack said, passing the crutch Albert had made to his friend. He watched to make sure that Crutchie wouldn’t fall, then turned around.

Guards, straight from the royal palace, filled the kitchen. “Please find Mr. Snyder,” Jack told them, and they marched out into the living room. Crutchie followed them, filled with morbid curiosity.

“How DARE you detain me in my own home!” Snyder was yelling, stomping on the ground like a petulant child. As the guards entered the hall, Snyder spun around. His eyes locked with Crutchie’s and his face turned from red to white quicker than a cloth dipped in bleach.

“Ah, there he is!” Jack spread his arms, and Snyder cowered away from him. “Trying to run away before we found Crutchie, huh?” He turned to the guards. “Arrest him.”

“Wait! Stop!” Snyder yelped as guards swarmed around him. “I didn’t do anything! You have no proof!”

“The proof,” Jack snarled, “Is written in black and blue on my friend’s body.” A guard pulled a pair of handcuffs from his belt as Snyder foolishly tried to fight back.

“Wait!” It took Crutchie a few moments to realize that he had been the one who had spoken. “Stop! Don’t lock him up!”

“You see?” his stepfather yelled, sighing with relief. “He forgives me! The angel forgives me!” Crutchie stared at him for a few more moments, letting his hope last a few more seconds. Then he grinned wider than he had ever grinned in his life, and turned to Jack.

“Oh please, your highness,” he said, his voice syrupy sweet, “May I do the honors?”

“You’ve got to be joking,” Snyder muttered, his face falling. Two guards twisted his hands behind his back while another passed Crutchie the handcuffs.

“And you’ll be laughing all the way to the pen, little man!” Crutchie locked the handcuffs on tightly. “So long, sucker!” He called as the guards dragged his stepfather, kicking and screaming, to the waiting paddywagon.


	8. Happily Ever After

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here it is, folks. You deserve it. Trigger warnings: past physical abuse, mentions of prison, making out. If you are bothered by two boys making out, why, pray tell, have you read this far?

As the wagon faded into distance, do did Crutchie’s good cheer. He noticed the aching bruises for the first time that day, and- good lord, were his ribs broken? His heart thundered in his chest, and he collapsed to the ground.

In an instant, Jack was beside him. “Oh my god, are you alright?” he asked. Crutchie tried to convey everything he was feeling, but the words didn’t come.

“Upstairs,” he said instead. “Oscar and Morris- my stepbrothers- he beat them up too. I don’t know how long.” Jack nodded at the few remaining guards, who began climbing up the stairs.

Then, they sat. At some point, the guards returned with Oscar and Morris in tow. They didn’t even look at Crutchie as they picked up their suitcases and walked out the door. Crutchie didn’t look at them either.

“So, um,” Jack said, after god knows how long. “You don’t really hate us, do you?”

“No.” Crutchie shook his head. “My stepfather made me write it. He was gonna move us away so you couldn’t rescue me.” His throat started to close again, thinking about what might have happened to him if Jack had been even an hour too late.

“Hey, you’re okay, you’re okay,” Jack murmured. 

“Oh god, what am I gonna do?” Crutchie squeaked. “I can’t believe I put my stepfather in jail! Where will I  _ live _ ?”

“Hey, hey, Crutchie, look at me,” Jack said. He carefully put his hands on Crutchie’s shoulders, looking for any sign of discomfort. “The offer to come live with me in the palace still stands, you know.” 

“Wait, really?” Crutchie looked up at Jack. He was clad in the same suit he had worn to the ball, and his face was bright red. 

“Yes, really,” Jack answered. “What, do you think I would pretend to like you for  _ four whole years _ just to play some sick joke one you?” Crutchie shook his head.

“No, you’re right. Sorry for being so stupid,” Crutchie whispered.

“No no no, you’re not stupid! Crutchie, I-” Jack choked on his words. He scooted around so that he and Crutchie were face to face. “I just want you to know that I stand by everything I said at the ball. Everything.” Crutchie mulled that over for a while. The church clock chimed twelve.

“Jack?” Crutchie said. “Can I have a hug?” He felt so childish, saying those words out loud, but Jack didn’t seem to think so. He scooted closer to Crutchie and wrapped his arms around him. Immediately, the pain that invaded every part of his body lessened. Crutchie grabbed Jack as tight as he could, burying his face in his chest, pulling himself into his lap. 

“Hey Jack?” Crutchie asked after a while, finally unburying his head from Jack’s shoulder.

“Yeah?” Jack responded. For a moment, Crutchie thought about saying it was nothing. But Jack had said he meant everything he said at the ball…

“My stepfather was pretty mad at me for sneaking out,” Crutchie said, deciding to start with something innocuous. “He found me there and dragged me home. That’s why I left. Not because I hate you or anything.” Crutchie took a deep breath. “He beat me up real bad for that. Split my lip.”

“I’m sorry,” Jack said. He looked at Crutchie’s mouth, clearly confused. This was to be expected- Crutchie had learned to protecting his face within weeks of living with Snyder. A split lip was one of the few injuries he didn’t have.

“I- canyoukissitbetter?” Crutchie said, quickly, before he could chicken out. The question hung in the air as Jack processed what he had heard. He jumped back a little, and Crutchie’s stomach twisted, he had ruined it, he had- but then the corner of Jack’s mouth turned up.

“Yeah, sure,” he stammered. He brought his hand up and cupped the side of Crutchie’s face tenderly, like he might break Crutchie if he moved too fast. He hesitated, and it occurred to Crutchie that Jack might be even more nervous about this than he was. Swallowing his fear, Crutchie leaned forwards and pressed their lips together.

Crutchie had never understood why the other boys talked about kissing so much. It was just mashing your faces together for a couple minutes, right? But as Jack’s lips finally touched his, Crutchie realized that that couldn’t be further from the truth. Immediately, his whole body went hot, and he pressed up against Jack, aching for physical contact that  _ didn’t hurt _ . Jack’s mouth moved against his, and his hand slid up Crutchie’s back to gently stroke his hair. Crutchie moaned softly. It was embarrassing, but the awkwardness of the situation was the farthest thing from Crutchie’s mind right now.

For a split second, Jack pulled away to gasp for breath. The instant felt like a century, and as soon as Jack inhaled again Crutchie kissed him again, hard enough to send Jack falling backwards into the plush carpeting. Their teeth clacked together painfully, and Crutchie sat up.

“Ow. Sorry, Jack,” he panted, rubbing his mouth with his sleeve. Now his lip really  _ was _ hurt. He glanced down at Jack. His face was bright pink, and he was staring at Crutchie almost reverently.

“What?” Jack responded after a few seconds.

“Sorry. For pushing you over,” Crutchie repeated. He felt his face begin to heat up as he realized that he had just been snogging his best friend on the ratty entryway carpet! He quickly slid off Jack’s torso, pulling his legs to the side.

“That’s okay,” Jack said breathlessly. He sat up, rubbing the back of his head. He glanced at the door. “We should probably get going. I think we’ve kept my poor driver long enough.”

“Right. Obviously,” Crutchie said hastily. He grabbed his crutch and tried to stand, but his bruised fingers couldn’t grasp the handgrip. “God damn it-”

“Wait!” Jack stood up. “If you want, I could carry you.” Crutchie nodded, and Jack scooped him up easily.

“By the way, I’m taking you up on that ‘live in the palace’ offer,” Crutchie murmured into Jack’s chest.

“Fine by me, but no take backs,” Jack smiled softly. He grabbed the crutch from where it leaned against a wall and opened the door. 

Jack carried Crutchie out of his stepfather’s house, and neither of them set foot in it ever again. Oscar and Morris were fostered, and then adopted, by a couple who believed strongly in the merits of hard work, intelligence, and above all, kindness. Snyder was sentenced to life in prison for his crimes. As he had convicted many of the prisoners there, he had to be kept in solitary confinement- for his own safety. As for Crutchie, well, he married the prince, and that’s about as happily ever after as you can get.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey folks! That's the end of my first fic! I won't be writing for a while after this, I have lots of school work. When I'm finished, should I write a ralbert AU based on little red riding hood, or a story where Crutchie gets posesed by a demon (in the fun way)? Vote on your phones (or laptops or whatever) now!


End file.
